Disorientation

Is it possible to fall in love with probabilities,
To fall in love with a soul that’s a maybe,
To fall in love with intangible realities.

Then why is it that I have fallen
For the just barely.

These semblances
Keep resonating inside
Archaic echoes of concentric conceptions
Of discomforting dazes in ecstasies
Where eyes of a deranged criminal cackled
Then cracked in crippling dins of
Dined vehement emanations.

Integrations of cyclical motions
Deduced as fragments of
Kaleidoscopic ignitions.

Still,
With her nonexistent voice,
She urges:
“Push”,
Within exceeded pain thresholds
In jolts of crumbling lulls.

If the Game We Played

So the pain that I’m feeling
Exists inside a portion of me
In the idea of not knowing
If the game we played was reality
A love chased after blindly, a normal ordeal

I don’t know anything fully
As nothing had been revealed.

What would cause a person to lull
And ignore a story where none
Of the sequences were concluded.
Was the suffering in a life of
Living, such burdened conjecture.

Then the idea of a plan made
For the soul to suffer
Sets me on fire.

-Sabs-